


The Forgotten Crown

by Angelike



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Flash Fiction, M/M, POV Third Person, Permission to Podfic Granted, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelike/pseuds/Angelike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his coronation, Caspian is firmly determined to pursue the prickly King Peter's affections; however, he is unprepared for Peter's enthusiasm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forgotten Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [french_sorbette](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=french_sorbette).



> I found this sitting on an old flash drive and thought it cute enough to post.

His crown hits the floor with a resounding clatter, but Caspian cannot bring himself to care—not when the object of his most profane desires is within his grasp at long last, mouth achingly sweet against his own. Admittedly, this first kiss leaves much to be desired: Caspian is initially too stunned to properly respond, having always assumed (in light of His Majesty's blatant animosity toward him) that _he_ would be the one to make the first move (or, more precisely, to tame the shrew), and so the flushing boy-king is already awkwardly pulling back and babbling nonsensically before his senses kick back in and he realizes _this is his chance_.

“—and I'm s—so sorry, if I—I misunderstood. I j—just... Omph!”

Caspian chuckles against the wide-eyed boy's lips and deepens the kiss until the warm body in his arms has melted into him completely. Breathlessly, he pulls back, and when Peter peers up at him with lidded eyes and a swollen mouth he suddenly knows with aching clarity why any Narnian would die for this hard-headed young man—and gladly.

“Command me, My Liege,” he murmurs softly, seductively. “I am but your humble servant.”

“Humble? You?” The high king's lips quirk into a soft smile, blue eyes dancing with a look of fondness and laughter than had never before been directed at _him_. His chest tightens and he tells himself it's only lust. “That I would like to see!” A smile: genuine, but rueful. “The last thing I expect from you is humility, nor servitude. You're king now—my equal.”

And the forgotten crown glimmers dimly in the moonlight.


End file.
